53. His Hidden Happiness
She visited Dumbledore the next day and told him all about her conversation with Malfoy. "I'm assuming you know all this already, sir," she explained, "but I just wanted to make sure. I couldn't live with myself if something terrible happened, and I hadn't done anything to prevent it."
He smiled kindly at her and remarked, "Bold of you to confront Draco Malfoy with no one to back you up. I've heard you called a 'mad lass,' and I can't say I disagree with that sentiment."
Smiling sheepishly, she replied, "Yes, well... he's not quite as threatening as he'd like everyone to believe."
"Perhaps not as threatening," he agreed, "but potentially dangerous. His ineptitude regarding that lovely opal necklace, and of course, Professor Slughorn's mead - which was meant to be a gift for me - did result in nearly fatal accidents for two of your classmates."
Callie thought back on how happy she'd been to see Katie return to the castle a couple of weeks prior. The girl had given her a huge hug, thanking her for "saving her life," even though Callie had tried to explain that Snape had been the one behind it all. When Katie had asked if there was any way she could ever pay Callie back, the latter had asked her to sign her copy of the Healing Angel painting. "An original autographed Bell!" the Slytherin had remarked.
"Well, not really," Katie had said, blushing. "It's one of seven. Healer Winslow's got the original - and he also gave one to his parents and one to the chief healer. Oh, and one to the Longbottoms." Callie had smiled at that.
Presently, Dumbledore said, "Don't ever assume that incompetence and destruction are mutually exclusive. In fact, the two often go hand-in-hand."
"Yes, sir," she agreed. Then after a moment, "Why have you kept him around? Malfoy, I mean. Wouldn't you feel... better if he wasn't in the castle?"
"No," he replied. "I actually feel much safer knowing where he is at all times. And by keeping him relatively close, I can... anticipate what he might be planning for me next."
I always thought he was all-seeing. It was painfully clear by now that the man was a Legilimens. Bloody hell, I need to learn how to do that.
"Sir?" she said after a pause. "I did have one other concern that I wanted to bring to your attention."
He gestured for her to explain and said, "Please, go on."
She hesitated, not wanting to actually say the words - almost as if they were blasphemous. So instead, she showed him, looking into his eyes and thinking back to a specific part of her and Malfoy's conversation. She watched carefully for his reaction, and damn if there wasn't the smallest hint of unease in his eyes. But it came and went within a second. What do you think? she asked him telepathically.
"Hmm," he breathed, rising up to pace the room. Callie's face fell as she thought, Bloody hell, he's worried. But he didn't look particularly bothered when he turned back to her. "Quite a theory Mr. Malfoy has conjured up," he mused. "I never knew the boy was so imaginative."
Sighing, Callie said, "Sir, I..." But she didn't know where she had been meaning to go with that. All she had wanted to do was let him know what Malfoy had said about Snape - his insistence that the man's true allegiance was to You Know Who.
It was rubbish. The git was only trying to throw the suspicion off himself.
And yet... there was a nagging in the back of her mind, the feeling that she had to have her own beliefs confirmed. She had to know what Dumbledore thought of the idea that the former Death Eater, the double agent, the Occlumens, had fooled everyone and was secretly serving the Dark Lord - for real.
She gazed into the headmaster's eyes almost desperately, and thought, Tell me it can't be true. Please, tell me you're sure of it.
"You've had a rather... interesting relationship with Professor Snape over the years," he remarked.
Oh, God, she thought, he can read me. Did he sense that she was... inexplicably intrigued by her head of house? Perhaps she should've looked away from him, tried to block him out. But instead, she held his gaze as she replied, "Yes, sir," making no attempt to hide her mixed up feelings for the man. Somehow it's okay if he knows, she thought. I would never let anyone else in on this, but Dumbledore's all right.
A slight smile curled his lip and he said, "I'm an educated man, but I can't say I completely understand the dynamic between the two of you."
"Neither can I sometimes," she conceded.
His expression became unreadable as he stared down at her, and she got the feeling that he wasn't reading her, but looking through her, lost in his own thoughts. He is worried. Or at least, he has his doubts. Finally his eyes refocused, and he asked, "Do you trust the man?"
She didn't want her personal biases to color her judgment; instead, she stuck to the facts. He gave me private lessons on defense - Occlumency, dueling, vigilance. Why would he arm me with such information if he was Dark himself? He didn't try and stop me - or anyone else, for that matter - when I joined the D.A. He acted like my damn bodyguard in London. He warned me to look out for Malfoy. He even kept Pansy away from me, somehow, after she beat me up. Good Christ, he's been protecting and preparing me this whole time. And it went back even farther than all that. She thought about what he had said the night he'd confronted her about her father.
I can promise you now, this won't be your last experience with death. And if you don't learn how to properly deal with the matter, it's going to destroy you.
He had known, at the time, what was coming. That the Dark Lord was going to rise up and another war was brewing. And she'd been so broken, so weak - she'd have never gotten through the last two years if he hadn't snapped her out of it. This won't be your last experience with death. He'd certainly warned her, hadn't he?
Dumbledore said he would trust Snape with his life. Do you?
"I do," she said after a long moment.
His smile returned as he replied, "So do I. On that note, I don't believe that anything else needs to be said."
She had a feeling he was keeping something from her, but whatever it was, she decided not to pry. There are some things I don't have to know, she told herself. I trust him, and he trusts Snape. That's all I need, for now. She rose to her feet and said, "Thank you, sir. I always appreciate our little chats."
"As do I. You're quite an engaging young lady, Miss Warbeck." He paused, before a realization seemed to hit him. "Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you." He reached into his robes and pulled out a cigar. "A little birdie told me you had a fondness for a good Honduran every once in a while."
He held it out for her, and she gaped up at him. Dad, she thought. The smell brings back good memories.
"I noticed you've been rather downcast recently," the old man explained. "Thought you could use a bit of comfort."
She took the cigar, giving it a sniff, and then looked back at the headmaster as though he were an angel sent from God, Himself. He'd paid enough attention to recognize that she'd been feeling the weight of her father's absence particularly strongly as of late, and he'd remembered what must have been a throwaway comment about her associating Hondurans with him. And then he'd acquired one to give her a hint of the man's spirit, a sense of comfort. She'd never been more grateful to her headmaster.
She stepped forward to wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace, which he returned. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling back to kiss him on the cheek.
He ran a hand soothingly over her hair. "We're living in dark times, Calista," he said. "But no matter what happens, just remember... everything's going to be all right."
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She stood outside one night in June, leaning over the apparently empty thestral paddock and wondering how any magical person could be poor. You can duplicate almost anything, she thought, puffing from one of the Hondurans she'd produced from the original that Dumbledore had given her. I really could survive off of Dad's inheritance without ever having to work. It was quite a stupid idea to concern herself with, but sometimes it was rather nice to let her mind wander aimlessly. No wars, no death, no sadness - just her and the night air and a good cigar.
"Mistress Warbeck! Mistress Warbeck!" a squeaky little voice shouted from across the way. She turned to find a house-elf standing on the front steps of the castle, apparently searching for her.
"Eh!" she called out, waving her arm to get his attention.
He disappeared from where he'd stood, and reappeared two feet in front of her. "Mistress Warbeck," he said, "I've been looking everywhere for you, ma'am."
Panic rose up in her as she asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, ma'am," the elf replied. "Master Snape has sent me to retrieve you."
"Is he all right?"
The elf shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am. It's hard to tell with Master Snape."
"Does he look hurt?" she specified. "Or injured, or...?"
"Seems to be all in one piece, ma'am, if that's what you mean."
She stomped out the cigar and said, "Take me to him." Unlike humans, house-elves were able to Apparate and Disapparate within the castle, and they could also take people along with them. She held out her hand for the creature, and he took it, transporting them both to the dungeons, right outside Snape's quarters. Nodding to the elf, Callie said, "Thank you... um..." She didn't know his name.
"Lemony, ma'am!" he informed her.
"Thank you, Lemony." He bowed to her and disappeared. She knocked on Snape's door and called out, "Professor?" There was a clicking sound, and she hesitated before letting herself in.
He was seated with an empty glass in his hand, staring off into the distance with a rather dazed expression on his face. Something's happened, she thought. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.
He didn't respond, but went to take a sip from the glass. Finding it empty, he tossed it to the floor and drank straight from the bottle instead.
Bloody hell, Callie thought, too concerned about whatever was going on to be amused. "Sir?" she prodded. "Are you all right?"
He remained silent for another moment, but then he replied, "No." After a pause, he explained, "I think I'm a little bit... schnockered."
She let out a breath, grinning slightly in spite of her worry. "Has something happened tonight?" she asked. "Are you-? Is-?" she stammered, not knowing what to assume. "Is anyone dead?"
"Lots of people are dead, Warbeck, but no one has died tonight. Not that I know of, at least." Again, he drank.
"Then why are you-?" she began with a puzzled expression. "Why do you look as though somebody's died?"
Again, he didn't reply, but he held out the wine bottle for her to take. Rather than having a bit, she set it aside out of his reach. He's had enough, I'm sure. In all the times they'd shared a drink, she had never actually seen him drunk.
Patting the seat next to him on the sofa, he ordered, "Sit." Reluctantly, she did as he said.
"Professor," she sighed, her hands trembling slightly, "forgive me for prying, but... you're kind of... scaring the shit out of me right now. What's going on?"
"We're in the middle of a war," he said, "you should be afraid."
"But what's happened?" she practically shouted. "Why are you-" she gestured up and down his deflated form and the glazed-over look in his eyes "-like this all of a sudden?"
Yet again, he kept quiet. Open your God damn mouth! she wanted to scream at him. He hadn't moved his eyes from whatever random spot they were fixed on, and she sighed and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Talk to me, why don't you?" she demanded. "Tell me what's going on."
He simply stared at her, but she didn't think he was in the right mind to read her. And she really didn't care if he did; all he would see was her frustration and concern anyway.
Finally he said, in a flat tone, "The job is cursed."
She gaped at him, removing her hands from his face. "Yes," she replied. "And you knew that." After a pause, she said, rather scornfully, "Having second thoughts, are you, sir?"
As he conjured a second - or perhaps a third? - bottle of wine, she noted the look in his eyes, and all the fears she had had for the man's safety were amplified a hundred-fold. Because, for the first time in all the years she'd known him, she saw something in Severus Snape that she'd never imagined possible.
He was scared.
He downed about a quarter of the bottle in one go, then shook his head and muttered, more to himself than to her, "I never wanted this."
"You always wanted this," she argued. "Everybody knew that you were after the Defense job."
"I never wanted this," he repeated, turning to face her again.
Apparently he wasn't only talking about the job. Furrowing her brow, she asked, "What is 'this,' then? What's going on?"
He seemed to be debating whether or not to tell her, and then he replied, "You'll find out soon enough."
She rolled her eyes, groaning in frustration and rising to her feet. "God damn it, Snape!" she exclaimed. "Don't bring me in here and then refuse to tell me anything!" She let out a breath, before going on, "Ya know, I was actually having a nice, quiet moment to myself and you ruined it. So get on with it, for Christ's sake! Whatever you called me here to say, just say it. Stop with the damn mind games!"
He stared up at her for a moment, then huffed and said, "You're beautiful when you're angry."
She curled up her fingers like she wanted to strangle him, utterly exasperated now. She didn't know whether to shout or to hit him or to break that ruddy bottle over his head. But she finally settled on leaving him in his miserable, drunken, cryptic state, and with a shake of her head, she made to leave.
However, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, halting her. "Don't," he said. "I've given you six years of my time, you can give me ten minutes of yours."
She hesitated, not wanting to stick around for more of his incomprehensible tight-lipped nonsense. She was so sick of everything being a game with him, having to figure out if there was some kind of hidden meaning behind every word, every action. "Can you just be straight with me, then?" she asked. "Talk to me like you're not trying to hide something, for once."
He was quiet for a moment, before he replied, "I've spent my whole life hiding things, Warbeck. It's in my nature."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes again. "You're impossible," she breathed. But she rejoined him on the sofa, taking the bottle and having a swig. They sat in silence for a moment, before she mused, "'Hiding your whole life?' Bloody hell, no wonder you're so uptight." He made a small grunting noise in acknowledgment, then took the bottle, swigged, and handed it back. Reaching into her pocket, she asked, "Care for a stogie?"
She pulled out a little brown leather case packed with four of the cigars. He eyed it, and said, "That was your father's, wasn't it?"
"No, actually." She lit one up and explained, "It was a prize from Slughorn. For pulling off my own hand-brewed Liquid Luck." She paused to take a puff, then added, "He didn't think I could do it."
He echoed the potions master's words from months ago, "'Don't underestimate the girl, Severus.'"
"You should listen to the man," she suggested. "I have a way of getting what I want."
"Cunning Slytherin," he mused.
She offered him her cigar, then studied him as he took a long drag. Something's coming, she thought. "You'll find out soon enough," he'd said. And he was scared.
Christ, he's gonna die. "Sir?" she said, and he turned his gaze on her. She wanted to tell him to get the hell away from the Dark Lord and never look back, but instead she said, "Tell me something no one knows about you. Something you've been hiding."
He hesitated, then asked, "Such as...?"
"Anything," she replied. "Doesn't have to be your deepest, darkest secret. Any little detail."
He turned his face from hers, and appeared to be thinking about it. After a while, he whispered, "I can conjure a Patronus."
A smile slowly spread across her face. "I figured," she said. "There's nothing the great Severus Snape can't do." After a pause, she asked, "But nobody knows that?"
"Dark wizards and witches generally can't," he reminded her. "Best not to go blathering about it. I don't need to give the Dark Lord any reason to doubt me."
Desperately curious, she asked, "What is it? What shape does it take?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't."
She glared at him, then rolled her eyes. Everything's a God damn secret. "Complete, unadulterated joy," she mused. "Bit of a stretch for you, I imagine. What was the memory?"
Just as she'd expected, he didn't reply - not right away. He downed another quarter of the wine, then sat staring down at the floor, looking deep in thought.
Is he thinking about it? The moment of happiness he recalls when he needs to conjure up his silver guardian? What could it possibly be? Where does a man like him find joy? Never mind the shape; this is what she really wanted to know.
"When I was a boy..." he began in a quiet voice, "I had a rather... special friend back home. We were the only two magical children in our town, we understood each other." He paused, a wistful expression on his face. "We were inseparable. We came here together in '71." He took another swig before he went on. "She was the closest friend I'd ever had, perhaps the only true friend I've ever had." He was so deep in his memories of this girl, it was as though he were speaking to himself, and Callie wasn't even in the room.
"She never knew," he continued. "Or maybe she did, I don't know. She never gave me any indication that she knew." A long pause, before he said, "But I was in love with her."
Callie's eyes widened. In six years she'd never once heard of any woman in his life. Not that she gave a lot of thought to any of her teachers' romantic attachments, but Snape in particular appeared to be the very picture of a lone wolf. Not exactly the hearts and flowers type.
"She was..." he went on, sighing to himself, "intelligent, talented, compassionate, engaging... beautiful. Completely out of my league." Another swig, and then, barely audibly, he said, "And she was good to me."
Good Christ, he sounded just like Neville, absolutely taken by the girl who was his best friend. This was certainly a side of him she'd never seen before. All in one night she'd been introduced to drunken Snape, fearful Snape, and now, loving Snape. I wanted to know him, she thought. The picture is getting an awful lot bigger.
"One day in third year, she came to me and said, 'Sev, I've got a favor to ask you. I've never been kissed and I want to know what it's like.' I was fourteen and I worshipped the girl - of course I was perfectly willing to be her test subject."
"Hmph," Callie smirked. This was quite possibly the most amazing story she had ever heard. Big, bad, cold-as-ice Severus Snape, fourteen years old and in love and practicing kissing with his best girl friend.
"I drew myself up, I thought of every time I'd seen two people kiss on television. I wanted to do it right. She told me to close my eyes and I did." He paused, before continuing, "And then she put her lips to mine for no more than two seconds, and I thought... What the hell was that?"
"You didn't say that to her, did you?" Callie asked, cocking a brow.
"No," he replied. "I said, 'That's not how you want to be kissed.'" Again, he paused, lost in the memory of this quintessential moment with the girl he'd loved. "Then I ran my fingers through her hair... put my hand on her cheek... and showed her how it was supposed to be done." The very slightest of smiles - he's actually smiling! - played at he corner of his mouth as he looked back on it. "Part of me was waiting for her to shove me away and slap me, but after a moment she was... actually kissing me back."
"She wanted to know what it was like," Callie said.
"Yes," he replied. "And I wanted her to remember it."
She smirked, thinking that he would be a good kisser - he excelled at everything. "What happened next?" she asked.
He hesitated, his face falling back to its usual stoic expression. "We laughed it off," he said. "Went on as always. Nothing changed."
Her shoulders sunk. Despite the fact that it obviously hadn't worked out in the long run, she was hoping there'd been some short-term bliss between the two of them. "Whatever happened to her?" she asked.
Again, he hesitated. But then he replied, very quickly, as if trying not to dwell on it, "She was killed in the first war."
Callie's mouth dropped open in shock. "No," she breathed. "I'm so sorry!"
He took another swig of wine and said, "We'd drifted apart years before. She married someone else, I never saw her again after graduation."
Despite his attempt to shrug it off, she could see how much pain he was in thinking back on his first love and her eventual fate. Killed in the first war. Was that why he'd defected? Had one of his fellows been responsible for the girl's death? Or even You Know Who himself?
She wanted to know the "whole sordid tale," but as he downed what was left of the bottle, she thought it best not to make him relive it all. "Sir," she said, "why did you call me here tonight?" He never had explained exactly what the purpose of this little visit was.
He hesitated, mindlessly circling his finger over the mouth of the bottle. Avoiding her gaze, he replied in a soft voice, "I didn't want to be alone tonight."
She pondered that. As Lupin had guessed back in third year, she wasn't one to enjoy solitude. But Snape had always seemed to revel in it. Now that she had a few more details, however, it was all starting to fall into place. No woman. No family, as far as she knew. He'd referred to the girl as the only real friend he'd ever had. His whole life revolved around being a pawn in Dumbledore and You Know Who's war games, playing spy for the both of them, hiding his true self from everyone.
You seem to enjoy having everyone despise you, she'd told him. But did he really, or was that just a part of the game?
"You don't wanna be alone ever, do you?" she whispered.
He looked up at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The two simply stared at each other for a long moment... and then he reached out to touch her hair, grazing his thumb along her cheek as he did so. His hand lingered as he kept those heavy-lidded eyes on her face, and she was almost certain that she could detect something... longing in his expression.
Christ, he's gone, she thought, watching him sway just a bit, looking as though he were about to pass out. Pounding down two bottles of wine will do that.
Finally, he muttered, "Fovámai." I'm afraid.
Her face fell into a heartbroken expression. Nothing ever rattled him - but if anything could do it, surely it would be the prospect of his own death. There were only two weeks left of the term; was this going to be one of the last times she ever saw him again?
That was all she could think about as she took his face in her hands, leaned in close, and pressed her lips to his. It was nothing like the way she kissed Neville; it was almost... pure. Not what she'd been picturing the night of their Patronus lesson - there had been nothing innocent about that. Right now, she didn't even use her tongue. He's not going to remember any of this in the morning, she thought. But perhaps that was for the best. If he'd been sober, she never would've done something so bold. And she didn't want to go her whole life wondering.
When she finally pulled away, she held his gaze and whispered, "Íthela na mátho pós ítan." I wanted to know what it was like.
She removed his hand from her face and stood up. Pulling out her wand and giving it a wave, she summoned a bottle of the shimmering gold potion that she'd spent six months developing. "Ygrí Týchi," she said, setting it on his desk. "Thought it might do you good."
If his barely conscious state was any indication, he was going to wake up and wonder where the hell the Liquid Luck had come from. She scribbled, From Warbeck - it's not poisoned, on a piece of parchment and set it underneath the bottle. By the time she turned back to him, he was out, his head hanging limply to the side.
Returning to the sofa, she conjured a pillow and stuffed it under his neck. She paused a moment, looking down at the man with a tear rolling down her cheek, and dreading whatever the hell they both had to look forward to in the coming days.
"O Theós na mas voithísei," she whispered. God, help us. She leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead, then said, "Rest well, Professor." With that, she nixed the lights and left him to sleep.